


15. A Hair Wash for All Your Worries

by Minieow



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Round Robin, Fluff, Hair Washing, M/M, Penny gets things going, Talks-but-not-really-talking, carry on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 06:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20502380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minieow/pseuds/Minieow
Summary: Baz thinks too much.Simon doesn't think at all.A spell misfires. (Again.)Part 15 of the Carry On Round Robin! Be sure to read all the previous chapters before this for a better understanding of the story.





	15. A Hair Wash for All Your Worries

**Author's Note:**

> Hope I did them justice!

**BAZ**

It’s been three days since Simon ran off from my house, and he still hasn’t called me. No texts, no calls, no pigeon-letters. None. My family’s been going nuts off their heads. Father keeps trying to convince me to join the next conference with the Old Families so I can tell them of my great plan to bring down the Mage’s Chosen One, and Daphne keeps giving me odd looks at dinner. Even the little ones want to know where he went.

Just yesterday, after dinner, Mordelia slammed into my room and demanded where did the Chosen One go.

“Don’t call him that,” I said to her. “And get out. Knock.” Watford reopens in less than a week, and I’m at my desk, studying my Latin. My Latin’s been unparalleled up until now, but Bunce is tenacious, and I’d never let her take that away from me. Besides, Latin is the subject that my mum loved most at Watford. I’ll be damned if anyone but me gets the top at that.

Mordelia groans, stomps out the room, bangs on the door three heavy times, and stomps back in.

“Where did Simon go, Baz?” She asks. With all these few weeks with Snow, Mordelia and all the little ones have taken to calling him by his name instead of the ‘Chosen One’. I’m happy they’ve warmed up to him. I could tell he was uncomfortable with them going around addressing him like some prized pet of the Mage’s. As if the Mage doesn’t treat him like a little dog on a leash. (It makes me mad when I think of it.)

“I don’t know. It’s not like he has a phone I can call.” At least, not one that doesn’t transmit literally only static or starts smoking whenever it’s used for a period of longer than 5 minutes. He uses it much too, it’s my phone he uses to talk to Bunce during the summer.

“Well, then what happened?”

I sigh through my nose. I want to snap at her, ‘You see, Mordelia, I don’t know why the great love of my life just wrenched away from my grip, looked fucking horrified at me, no less, apologized and apologized for no reason, scrambled down the stairs three at a time and fled the house so abruptly without so much as a goodbye? ’

Instead I say, “Don't know. Just didn’t want to stay, I guess.” Her face falls, and then do I realize just how much have they warmed up to Simon. _Liked _him, even. Father would have a field day with all of this. All of his precious children, head over heels for the Mage’s Chosen One! What a disgrace to the Old Families it’d be.

I notice Mordelia still lurking at my door, and say, “What.”

She fidgets before answering, “Then will he ever come back?”

I almost laugh.

“No, Mor, he won’t be.” I say, and something twists inside me. After his radio silence following Simon’s great escapade three days ago, I don’t even know if he wants anything to do with me anymore. Maybe he got tired with me, or maybe he realized that it would never work out between us, with the Old Families and the Mage and a _war_ keeping us apart. I had a silver of hope for us, after one of our make out sessions, when he and I were lying on the couch, holding hands. When he talked about how we might work together, and the whole World of Mages might be saved without either one of us having to die.

I listened, watching the fireplace light shine over his curls- wrecked thanks to me- and wondered if anyone had ever been as lucky.

“…Baz? Baz, are you listening?”

“Hn?” I say. I’m carding my hands through his hair. I had wanted to do so since I was 12. I do.

“Why do you think the spell’s not wearing out yet?”

“Didn’t Bunce theorize that the spell acts like a rubber band? The longest we’re able to be apart up until now was 10 feet. We can try again tomorrow, see if it returns back to 5 feet. Why?”

He shrugs.

“Alright.” I say, and pull him in to kiss his hairline. He closes his eyes, and when I’m done, he pulls me down to kiss me.

It’s so good.

It’s been so good every time.

I don’t want it to end. (It is.)

I don’t want to lose him. (I am.)

I don’t want to lose what we have. (And there’s not a thing I can do about it.)

**SIMON**

I wake up to Penny’s face right above mine.

“Aleister Crowley! Penny!” I shout.

“Sorry, Simon! I was trying to wake you up!” She says.

“I know!”

“Why are we shouting at each other?” She starts to grin.

“I don’t know!” I laugh. Penny laughs and drops onto the bed alongside me.

“Come on, breakfast is ready downstairs. My family is waiting.” She stands and leaves the room. It’s her younger sister’s room. (Pria, was it?) (I’m terrible with names.) (Baz’s younger siblings have me confused enough.)

I’ve been staying at Penny’s house ever since I ran off from Pitch Manor a week ago. I don’t think I could’ve stayed there any longer. I was afraid I might’ve gone off right there and then, in Baz’s bathroom. (It still felt as if I had, though.) (The smoke was suffocating.) I couldn’t go back to Watford (because it’s closed during the holidays) and I couldn’t actually go to the Wellbeloves’ because I broke up with their daughter.

So I came to the Bunces. Penny shrieked when I showed up at her door, tired and unsteady on my feet, caked in mud and leaves and whatever else the countryside consists of, and hugged me so tight I almost fell over.

“Hey, Pen,” I said with some difficulty.

“Simon! How are you here? Has the spell worn off? I’m so glad!” She said.

She released me, and I took a step back. I shrugged. “Kind of?”

“We can talk about it later. I’m so glad! Though,” She frowned. “Let’s get you a bath first. You look a fright.”

And I was ushered into the house, greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Bunce, albeit confusingly, and shoved into Penny’s bathroom.

“Don’t come out until you stop smelling like trees and mud,” She warned me, and left.

Staying with the Bunces was quite enjoyable, I must admit. Being able to talk to Penny over the holidays was unbelievable enough already, but getting to see her in person was even more of a shock. It must have seemed the same to her, because she wouldn’t stop talking to me at breakfast.

Breakfast was fun. Where breakfast at the Pitches were always kind of stifling and uncomfortable, Mr. and Mrs. Bunce did their absolute best to make me feel at home, and the food is as good as the ones at the Pitches. The kids aren’t as talkative as Baz’ siblings. They mostly keep to themselves in separate corners of the house and float out of their rooms only for food. It’s slightly terrifying. The oldest must only be five, around Mordelia’s age, and yet they don’t look it at all. How they manage to not knock over anything in the house, I can’t comprehend. I’ve only been here for a few days, and I’ve broke exactly 5 vases. I felt bad because I could tell Mrs. Bunce had to be at least a little sad the vases broke (They looked expensive, with gold elephants and all.) but was trying not to show it.

“Oh, Simon, be careful of that,” She says now, pointing at a stack of books just inches from my arm.

“Sorry,” I say, moving away.

She smiles at me, and I smile back. Now I know where Penny gets all her sage wisdom from. Most of them come from her mum, and she quotes her as much as her mum says it. Even I’ve picked up a few. Her house also smells really nice. I wonder if that has anything to do with the way Penny’s magic smells. Everyone’s magic smells differently, and where Baz’s smells like fire and sandalwood (or is that just _Baz?)_ Penny’s magic smells like sage and brownies. I quite like it.

“So. How’s it been at Pitch’s Manor?” She asks now. We’re on her bed. It’s spelled extra squishy, the way she likes it. “Is it haunted?”

“_Yes_,” I say. “You won’t believe it. There’re literally gargoyles everywhere. Even in Baz’s bedroom!”

“Like a gothic mansion!”

“That’s what I said! But Baz insisted that it was Victorian.”

“What else were they? Were there booby traps? Secret passageways that lead to forbidden dungeons?”

“Dunno. I didn’t really get to explore much.” I lie. It doesn’t sit well in my stomach.

“Then what about Baz? Aren't you at each others' throats yet?” 

I may have omitted some information while talking to Penny over the hols. It's just that, I don't even know if Baz wants anyone to know about us yet. (Even though the entire school has seen us dancing, I doubt they really believe it.) (They probably thought Baz casted a dark spell on me.)

"Simon? Hello?" Penny waves a hand at me. I feel slightly sick. 

“I, uh, have to go. Sorry, Pen.”

“What? Why?”

“Long story. I’ll get back to you, Penny, I promise. I have stuff I have to settle.” I say, running down the stairs. Penny shouts, “Truce!” behind me.

“Bye, Mr. Bunce, Mrs. Bunce!” I shout. I'm taking the steps three at a time.

Penny’s mum looks up from where she’s glued to her computer at the counter. “Hmm? Oh, bye, Simon.” Her dad is nowhere to be seen. Probably holed up in the study room, then.

I step out of the door. It's pouring. 

I've avoided thinking about any of this for these few days, and now reality's catching up. If even Penny thinks Baz and I are supposed to be on opposite sides, are supposed to fight to the death, I have no idea what the rest will be thinking. I just want to see him, to know that he's alright. That he won't make it seem like the past few weeks have been a dream, that he won't pretend nothing's happened, nothing's _changed_ between us. 

I turn to the direction of Hampshire and start running. 

**BAZ**

It’s less than an hour before Mordelia stomps into my room again.

“Someone’s here to see you.” She announces triumphantly.

I get up. Most probably Dev or Niall, though they don’t come over during the holidays much.

When I get to the stairway, my heart stops.

Simon Snow is standing at my doorway, dripping on the carpet like a sad, wet dog.

He lifts his head and sees me. “Baz!”

I swallow. “Snow, what are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I came to-”

“Breathe, Snow. I’m not going anywhere.”

He takes a deep breath, swallows, and swallows again. (I have to stop myself from staring down his throat.) (He’s got the longest swallow ever.) “I’m sorry.” He says.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” I say, and then, softer, in case Mordelia’s eavesdropping, “We’re not boyfriends or anything. You don’t need to be here if you don’t want to.”

Then, Simon, that blasted nightmare, says, “I do want to.”

I know I shouldn’t say this, shouldn’t put myself up to be shot down, but there’s always this magical thing about Simon Snow: He makes you do things you know you should never, ever, do.

I say, so very softly, “Which part?”

I walk towards him. (Because I’m weak. Because I’m a constant disappointment to myself.) I take Snow’s hand in mine. “Which part of it do you want, Snow?”

Simon grips mine in response. “I want-”

And then, as if the universe itself is intent of ruining my life, right at that moment, Mordelia yells from right above the stairs, “Baz! Where is my hairband? I need it!” I can hear her footfalls down the stairs.

“Aleister fucking Crowley!” I swear.

“Baz? What-” He stops when I cover his mouth with my hand.

“Not _here,_ you numpty,” I hiss, shoving him, mildly confused and protesting, out of the door.

Once we are (thankfully) out of sight and earshot of the manor, I release my hand on Simon’s mouth. It’s hot from his breath, (Mouth breather) and I thank myself silently for not feeding prior.

Simon takes my hand again and juts his jaw out, in that ever so familiar way of his. “I want it. All of it.”

The breath catches in my throat. If my heart still beat, it’d be pounding out of my ribcage.

“Say it again.”

“I want it, Baz. I want to be your boyfriend, even though I’m shit at it, and I want to kiss you and hold you and do all the things boyfriends do. I want all of it, if you want me to.”

(I’ve never had anyone say anything like this to me.) (I don’t want anyone other than Simon Snow to say it.)

“I do,” I say, and kiss him.

He reaches up to put his hand on my cheek, and I flinch.

“Crowley, Snow. What _happened_ to you?” I say, wiping the mud off my cheek.

“Sorry,” He says. Half of his body is caked in mud. Now that I‘ve noticed, there are some small twigs caught in his bronze curls. He must’ve come through my family’s woods. I move to remove them.

“Did you roll down a hill?” I say, taking out my wand. “**Clean as-**”

He stops me midway. “Ah, no thanks, Baz. I, uh, prefer to just take a bath.” I know Snow never casts spells unless he really needs to, because he tends to mess up about more than half of it. The Mage just lets him go off like a bomb when he needs him for something. It’s maddening.

“Did you roll down a hill to get to my house?” I say again.

“I walked. There still isn’t anyway else to get to your house. And the roads are all wet and muddy.”

“And yet you still refuse to learn a basic weatherization spell,” I chide him. “**Rain, rain, go away!” **I say, pointing my wand at the sky. An invisible umbrella materializes above me, trickling rainwater over the edges. Snow huffs beside me.

“How do you always get these right?” He says. “I’ve been practicing for 5 years, and I still can’t get them to work properly,”

I arch an eyebrow at him.

He shoves a hand through his hair and gives me a sheepish grin. “Alright, maybe I haven’t been practicing. It’s still unfair, you know. You make it look so easy.”

I grin and take his hand. Snow immediately yelps and jumps away from me. For a moment I think that the spell’s back in effect, and it shocks me, but it’s just that I’ve gone too close, and the rain’s sliding off my air umbrella onto Snow’s head. Its unfairly adorable how Simon looks, with shiny raindrops on his hair and clinging to his eyelashes. (They’re not even long, or curve downwards to brush his cheek.) (They’re just a plain brown.)

“Sorry,” I say, and then, “Come on, give it a try, it’ll be fine.”

Simon closes his mouth, squares his shoulders, and points his wand at the sky from where he pulls from his sleeve. **“Rain, rain, go away!” **

The air condenses, the pressure drops, and for a moment, I think that Snow’s going off instead of casting a spell, and I brace myself, ears popping-

It’s spectacular.

Spectacular in the way that a simple, third-grade weatherization spell can be messed up by Snow just _this_ much. **Rain, rain, go away** is one of the simplest spells to learn, and the easiest to get wrong, because you have to direct where you want the rain to go. And in this case, Snow has directed it on _me._

“Oh, Baz, I am _so sorry_,” He says.

“It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s very much not fine. I’m utterly soaked up to my pants, and my shoes give an uncomfortable _squelch_ when I step on them. Simon is still hovering at my side, mumbling apologies.

“You could still Clean as a Whistle yourself,” He says without magic.

“I can’t. **Clean as a Whistle** is only for dirt and grime, it doesn’t recognize rainwater as one. I’ll have to go back home for a bath.”

“Guess we’ll have to go back to your house to clean up,” He says, grinning again.

I kiss him, then, one of us soaked and the other muddied.

“Let’s go,” I say, holding his hand. “You’re lucky my parents are out for the day.”

He squeezes my hand, and doesn’t let go.

**SIMON**

We reach Pitch Manor, and Baz goes in first to scout. I wait outside for his signal, and sure enough, his head pokes out from his bedroom window a while later, and he waves at me to come up.

I can’t stop smiling. Even though it’s Baz’s house, it feels as if we’re committing a crime, and well, it’s been the most fun since all my other summers alone in Watford.

I make my way upstairs silently. As silently as I can, because I see Baz wince from where he’s got his head out of his bedroom door as I’m climbing up the stairs.

As my feet enter the door, Baz grabs me by my shirt collar (It belongs to Penny’s brother. It’s a little wide around the collar.) and kisses me soundly, spelling the door locked and soundproof.

We stay like this until the both of us remember that we’re still dripping mud and water on Baz’s wooden floor. Simon leads me towards the bathroom, and I follow. We bump into the doorframe. (Twice. It’s embarrassing.) 

At last I manage to switch on the tap, and freezing cold water comes pouring down on us. Baz and I spring apart like a pair of startled rabbits. He looks at me like he’s about to bite me.

**BAZ**

I can smell the blood pounding under Simon’s veins. Even though I get to kiss him now, I still feel like biting him. I let the water slide over my face to clear up. (It’s not working.)

**SIMON**

“Do you want to shower first, or do I do it first?” I say.

“I just need to wash my hair. Just- just a change of clothes and it’ll be fine.” He stammers. Baz. Stammering. It’s not like Baz to trip over his words. (Even his cheeks have a little pink in them.) (_I did that_.)

“Oh, um- sure,” I say. I am suddenly acutely aware of my hands, dangling at my sides. Where am I supposed to put them? What do two people who are dating do in the showers? I can’t just walk out of here, it’ll be so awkward.

I can’t think of anything suitable to do or say, so I don’t think.

I move to where the soaps are and choose the sandalwood one. The water that swirls into the drain turns from colorless to murky then to light brown. I squeeze some into my palm; the smell fills my nose. It smells like Baz. (Or does Baz smell like it?)

“Look down,” I say, and lather the shampoo onto Baz’s hair. His hair is soft, and threads through my fingers like water. Baz hums and closes his eyes as I massage his scalp. I don’t think he knows he’s doing it. I continue washing his hair, and we keep quiet. It almost feels...domestic. This is more intimate than anything we’ve done so far. It’s sort of...opening yourself to the other, to express vulnerability, to allow someone else to take care of you.

I run my hands over the nape of Baz’s neck gently.

**BAZ**

It feels so good.

I never thought that I would be at the receiving end of Simon Snow’s affection. If you had asked me three months ago, I would’ve laughed my arse off at how ridiculous it was. At the time, I was miserable and drunk in love, and knew that the only receiving end I would be of anything Simon Snow would be his blade_. End this, and I’ll be free_, I used to think.

I know better now.

Washing the foam off my hair, I swipe my hair off my face and turn to lather shampoo on Snow’s head. He gives a grunt of surprise.

“Don’t look so surprised, Snow. You’ve helped me, of course I have to help you.”

Simon stiffens. My hands stop.

“I don’t want you to _thank _me, Baz.” He looks incredulously at me, his brows furrowed and his lips open.

“What do you want, then?”

Simon shrugs, a little helplessly. I take it as an assent and continue to shampoo his hair.

The water drips from the end of his curls, and the foam makes his hair twice as thick. I can’t help it; I grab a handful of foam and smother it on his face.

“There,” I say. “Now you’re clean.”

Simon swipes at his face and reaches for mine. 

"Piss off!"

"I won't!" 

He grabs my wrists and flicks some foam onto my face.

“Hey! I just washed!” I protest, even though I'm much stronger than he is. 

“And I was _washing_ it!”

“…”

“…”

We both burst out laughing at the same time.

“Ugh, you nightmare,” I groan. “Now I have to wash it again.”

Simon keeps smiling at me. It seems a little too wide for his face, the way his eyes scrunch up too much and his lips pull too far apart. A little out of his own control, and I love it.

I love everything about him. 

I love him. 


End file.
